


Brings Back The Child In You

by flawedamythyst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Turned into Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-21
Updated: 2009-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:38:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Then a head appeared from the pile of clothes, and Dean had to choke back a gasp of shock. Sam was over twenty years younger than he had been before the flash.Graphics by Merihn.





	1. Chapter 1

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It started in a bar. Things always seemed to start in a bar now – Sam was pretty sure he could blame Dean for that. They weren't even on a case; they were just passing through on the way to somewhere else.

Dean was hustling the locals at pool while Sam relaxed in the corner, slowly nursing a beer and keeping an eye on his brother in case the two guys he was playing turned nasty. It all seemed pretty amiable though, and Sam was content just to kick back and unwind after a stressful few days. The demon they'd been hunting had been annoyingly vicious and cunning and before they'd managed to trap it and exorcise it, there'd been a few too many touch-and-go moments.

Dean leaned over the pool table, and Sam took a moment to appreciate his brother's fine ass. They'd both been too whacked to do anything when they'd finally collapsed into bed last night, still smelling of sulphur, and this morning they'd both overslept and had to hustle to get out of the motel room by check-out, but there wouldn't be any time restraints tonight. Maybe another hour or so in the bar, time enough for Dean to make enough to pay for gas tomorrow and have a couple of drinks, then they'd go back to the motel room and take their time with each other.

Dean met Sam's eyes as he straightened up after his shot, and from the smirk he gave him, Sam was pretty sure he knew exactly what Sam was thinking, and was on the same page. He grinned back.

"Friend of yours?" asked a voice next to him, and he looked around to see a woman standing next to his table, smiling at him. He'd been so distracted by Dean that he'd not even noticed her approach.

"My brother," he clarified, and her smile widened.

"Can I join you?" she asked, not waiting for an answer before she slid into the seat opposite Sam.

Sam mentally kicked himself. _Should have said boyfriend_ , he thought. Dean enjoyed flirting with women even now that the only person he was going to go home with was Sam, but Sam always felt bad about leading them on.

Still, he didn't want to be rude, either. "Uh, sure," he said.

She leaned forward over the table. "I haven't seen you or your brother in here before. You new around here?"

"Just passing through," said Sam, wondering whether he should invent a wife or a girlfriend to get rid of her. That seemed a little extreme though. "We're road-tripping."

"Yeah?" she asked, one hand going up to twirl in a dark curl. "Been anywhere interesting?"

Sam nearly snorted. "All over," he said. _Crime scenes, graveyards, prison...Dean even managed to make it down to Hell, and I was presumably in some kind of afterlife for a day or so, even if I can't remember it now._

"That's so great," she said, one hand reaching out to rest on Sam's wrist. "I've always wanted to travel."

Sam looked at her hand, and wondered if there were a polite way to shake it off.

"Yeah?" said a welcome voice behind him. "You don't quit touching him, you're going to be travelling all the way to hospital."

She snatched her hand back, and Sam turned to see Dean glaring at her with almost as much venom as he'd used on the demon they'd exorcised yesterday. Sam took hold of his wrist, trying to calm him down. It seemed like his plans for the evening had just been changed to 'get dragged back to the motel and fucked through the mattress by a jealous, possessive Dean.' He couldn't say he really minded the change of plans, he just had to talk Dean down from breaking his 'don't hit a girl unless she's possessed, or already dead, or a monster, or in some other way evil' policy.

Dean glanced down at Sam's hand, then grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him up to where he could kiss him, hands clutching possessively at Sam's head while his tongue attacked his mouth. Sam grabbed his brother's shoulders and gave as good as he got.

Dean pulled back, and glared at the woman again. "He's mine," he said, and Sam had to roll his eyes, even as a warm thrill ran through him at the words.

The woman was staring. "I, uh, I thought you said he was your brother," she said to Sam.

Sam couldn't stop himself from smirking. He should probably think up some lie, but Dean was still standing way too close, one hand gripping Sam's shoulder as if he were going to try and get away, and he really couldn't be bothered. It wasn't as if he cared what a bar full of strangers thought of him, anyway. "Yeah," he said. "That's not all he is to me, though."

The woman started, and drew back slightly. "You're actually brothers?" she said in a faint, horrified voice. "That's...that's sick!"

"No one asked your opinion," growled Dean.

"And isn't it illegal?" she asked, clearly not listening to Dean. She glanced around the bar as if expecting cops to pour out and arrest them.

"Actually," said Sam, "incest in this state is only illegal between parents and children."

She stared at him speechlessly, mouth gaping open. Sam suddenly noticed the hush and realised that most of the rest of the bar were watching the drama as well. The guys whom Dean had been playing pool with, who had seemed perfectly happy to be hustled out of their wages, looked ready to turn violent at the idea of brother-fucking.

"We should go," he said to Dean.

Dean looked around at the bar and narrowed his eyes with annoyance. "Yeah," he agreed. "Let's go and fuck until your ass is raw." The atmosphere in the bar turned even more tense, and one of the biggest guys shifted his grip on his pool cue until he was holding it more like a club.

Sam grabbed his brother by the arm and got him the hell out of there before they both ended up being beaten and dumped in the river.

 

****

 

Dean drove them back to the motel too fast, skipping stop lights, and didn't even wait until they were properly inside the room before he pushed Sam up against a wall, tearing at his clothes and sucking on his neck hard enough to leave vivid red bruises.

"I'm gonna make sure everyone knows you're mine," he growled. "Gonna leave my marks all over."

"Fuck, yeah," gasped Sam, trying to get his hands under Dean's shirts to leave his own marks. Dean wasn't ready to relinquish any control though, and he pulled away just long enough to push Sam onto the bed.

"Gonna fuck you till they hear you scream in Canada," he said, and Sam shuddered at the tone of his voice, and pulled all his shirts off, eager to skip ahead to the main action. Dean grinned and stripped his own clothes off.

 

****

 

And that should have been an end to it. The next morning, they woke up and had slow, half-awake morning sex. Dean kissed his way over every mark that he'd left on Sam's body, almost in apology or benediction, then they packed up their stuff and got the hell out of town. Sam saw the woman from the bar as they drove down the main street, and he waved cheerfully at her. She stared back with a blank face.

Dean glanced at her as they drove past. "You know," he said, "You probably shouldn't have told her that, last night."

Sam just laughed. "I know," he agreed, "but I couldn't resist."

Dean gave an amused snort, and turned his concentration back to the road. They were driving all the way down to Tennessee to check out some bizarre missing persons cases, and it was going to be a long drive, even at the speed Dean usually went at.

 

 

 

 

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By mid afternoon, they were driving down through Kentucky, Zeppelin blasting from the speakers as Dean tapped along on the wheel. Sam was staring aimlessly out of the window, and Dean could tell from the faint crease on his forehead that he was thinking too hard and liable to slip into full on emo mode at any moment.

He turned down the music. "Hey," he said cheerfully. "Want to have sex?"

Sam looked over at him with disbelief. "Not on the interstate," he said, and Dean could see that whatever he'd been thinking about had been wiped from his mind completely.

Dean sighed long-sufferingly. "You're no fun, Sammy."

Sam snorted. "There's fun, and then there's being arrested," he said. "You really want the cops to find out we're not dead just 'cause you wanted a quickie?"

There was an exit coming up, and Dean turned off at it. "Sammy, Sammy," he said, trying to sound like the all-knowing big brother that Sam used to think he was. "Some things are more important than worrying about the cops."

He pulled into the parking lot of a rest stop, turned off the engine and grinned at Sam. "Not the interstate," he pointed out, and waggled his eyebrows.

Sam laughed. "Not going to fuck you in a parking lot either, Dean," he said. "Not in broad daylight."

"Aw, come on, Sammy," wheedled Dean. "What about a quick blowjob?"

Sam hesitated, and Dean pushed his advantage. "You're not going to say no to me sucking you off, are you?" He made sure to flick his tongue down over his lower lip in the way that always got Sam going.

Sam bit at his own lower lip and glanced around at the parking lot again. "Bathroom," he said, opening his car door. "Come on."

He was gone before Dean could reply, but, hell, Dean was down with that plan. He got out the car and followed Sam to the bathroom, both of them walking slightly too fast and speeding up as they got closer.

Inside the bathroom, Dean waited just long enough for the door to shut, then pushed Sam up against it and kissed him.

Or tried to. The moment their lips touched there was an implosion of white light, and Dean got thrown backwards, banging his head on the wall of the stall.

"Fuck," he swore, sitting up, and then blinked in surprise. Where Sam had been standing, there was now a struggling mound of clothes. Muffled swearing was coming from somewhere inside, and the sound of it was enough to force some of Dean's panic down. If Sam was swearing, then he was more annoyed than angry or in pain.

Then a head appeared from the pile of clothes, and Dean had to choke back a gasp of shock. Sam was over twenty years younger than he had been before the flash.

"Sammy," he gasped out. Sam was looking at him with an expression that looked a lot like Dean was feeling.

"Well, at least it's not just me," he said, and Dean had to blink again at hearing Sam talk in a voice he hadn't heard since he'd gone through puberty.

Sam's words, and the fact that he was okay enough for Dean to focus on himself for a moment, made Dean realise that Sam wasn't the only one suddenly drowning in clothes.

"Ah, crap," he said, looking down at himself to see that he was a child again as well.

"What the fuck was that?" asked Sam, and hearing him swear in his little boy's voice was maybe the weirdest thing of all.

Dean struggled to stand up, then admitted to himself that he was going to have to get out of at least some of his layers before he'd be able to move properly. He slipped his arms out of his jacket, and tried to kick away his jeans.

"Curse, maybe?" he said. "Some kind of spell? Who've we pissed off lately?"

Sam was having his own issues with climbing out of clothing. "Just about everyone," he said gloomily.

Dean managed to stand up, leaving behind all his clothes except his shirts which hung off him like a dress, and went to help his brother.

"Well, who've we pissed off that could do this?" he asked, pulling Sam's hoodie and outer shirts off over his head and then throwing them aside.

Sam blinked up at him, his hair in disarray. Dean was hit by a sudden memory of what he'd been like the first time he'd looked like this, all sweetness and light unless he wanted something. _Some things never change_ , he thought tiredly. Without really thinking about it, he wrapped his arms around Sam's waist and pulled him free of his jeans and boots, then set him down again. Sam's t-shirt looked even more like a dress on him than Dean's did, hanging down nearly to his ankles.

"That's the thing," Sam said, trying to pull the collar straight so that it didn't hang off one of his shoulders. "Hardly anyone has the kind of power it would take to do this - especially not to two people at once." He gave up on his collar when it became clear that it was just too large to cover both his shoulders. "We need to work out what we're going to do first, though."

"Go back to the car?" Dean suggested. He turned back to his heap of clothes, and sighed. "Think anyone will notice two kids walking across the parking lot, dressed in T-shirts and carrying a bunch of clothes?"

"I think we're probably going to have to leave our clothes here," said Sam.

Dean scowled, then dug through the pile of his clothes till he'd come out with the knife he'd had stuffed in his boot. He looked down at himself for somewhere to put it, then scowled when he realised there really wasn't anywhere. Instead, he tucked it up inside his shirtsleeve, keeping a hold on the hilt of it. Sam had pulled his money clip out of his pants pocket, and was looking down at his jeans mournfully.

“I hate losing jeans,” he said wistfully. “It's so hard to find ones long enough.”

Dean snorted. “Don't think that's going to be a problem at the moment, squirt,” he said. Sam glared at him, but it wasn't at all threatening on a young kid's face. In fact, it was kinda cute, but Dean was going to pretend he hadn't thought that.

 

 

 

 

  
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They nearly made it back to the car. They were just yards away when a couple going back to their own car spotted them.

“Are you boys okay?” asked the woman, sounding concerned. Sam had to admit to himself that she probably had a right to be, but that didn't stop either him or Dean speeding up to get away. He had no idea what they'd do when they made it to the car – Dean wasn't tall enough to reach the pedals and see out the windshield at the same time, and there was no way in hell they wouldn't get stopped by the police immediately anyway.

“Boys, where're your parents?” called the woman, and they both kept ignoring her. “George,” she said, “I don't think they're with anyone.” George rumbled something, and started coming towards them.

“Sam,” hissed Dean, “head for the woods. I'll hold them off.”

Sam snorted incredulously. “And what am I going to do then?” he asked. “Hide out in the woods and try to work out how to spring you?” He stopped moving and turned around, towards George. “We're just going to have to ride this one out. Get them to call Bobby – he'll come and pick us up.”

Dean sighed and stopped as well, keeping in front of Sam protectively. “Man, this really blows,” he muttered.

George bent down in front of them and gave them a reassuring smile. “Are your parents around?” he asked.

Sam opened his eyes as wide as he could. “They're dead,” he said, trying to sound piteous. From the look on George's face, it worked.

“Oh, you poor dears,” said the woman, crouching down and patting Dean's shoulder. Dean shot her a look that could have killed. “Are you here with someone else?”

Sam hesitated. If he claimed they were with Bobby, they'd want to know where he was.

“We're not supposed to talk to strangers,” said Dean.

George glanced up at the woman. “Why don't you boys come inside the shop with us?” he suggested. Dean edged away slightly, towards the woods, and the woman tightened her grip on his shoulder.

“We'll get the nice lady in there to find whoever you're here with,” she said in a falsely bright tone.

George took Sam's hand, and Sam had to resist the urge to kick him somewhere painful. Or, actually, now he was this height, possibly head-butting would be easier.

Dean growled. “Don't touch my brother,” he said warningly, and took Sam's other hand possessively.

Sam sighed. “We're going to have to go with them,” he pointed out.

“I know,” said Dean angrily, and he shook off the woman's hand and marched in the direction of the shop, still holding hard on to Sam's hand. George kept hold of Sam's other one, and Sam had to grit his teeth to stop himself loudly announcing that he was perfectly capable of walking on his own, without holding hands with anyone.

 

****

 

The 'nice lady' in the shop took one look at the baggy t-shirt Sam was dressed in, Dean's shirt which was clearly meant for a grown man, and their bare feet, and called the cops. Sam tried out his wide-eyed look again and scored a free bag of M&Ms, which he shared with Dean in the manager's office while they tried to ignore the conversation going on outside.

“Did you see their poor feet?” exclaimed the woman loud enough to be heard through the door. Dean grimaced.

The store manager asked them where their parents were, and this time it was Dean that told her they were dead, and that they were living with 'Uncle Bobby.' When she asked where he was, though, neither of them could think of anything to say. She sighed, and told the police when they arrived that she thought they'd been abandoned.

The police took them back to the station, and Dean refused to let go of Sam's hand until they were finally left alone in an interrogation room.

Sam shook him off, scowling. “You know I'm not actually five, right?”

“Six,” said Dean, looking carefully at the massive mirror on one wall.

Sam blinked. “What?”

Dean glanced back at him. “You're six. You were even shorter when you were five.”

Sam just stared at him for a moment, until Dean shifted uncomfortably. “You remember that?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “I spent a lot of time with you,” he pointed out.

Sam frowned, but let that go. “What are we going to tell them?” he asked. “If they think we're abandoned, they'll put us in foster care.”

“We're not going in foster care,” said Dean firmly. “We'll just phone Bobby, like you said.”

Sam shook his head slowly. “How're we going to explain why we're in Kentucky, and he's in South Dakota?”

Dean shrugged. “Tell them we ran away?” he suggested. “But not because of him – the last thing Bobby needs is to be investigated.”

Sam nodded, but before they could discuss it further, a policewoman came in. She gave them a wide smile. “Hello Dean, Sam,” she said. “My name's Louise.”

Dean took a couple of steps back to Sam's side, and grabbed his hand again. Sam sighed. “Hello, Louise,” he said tiredly.

Her smile grew wider. She crouched down. “What were you boys doing at that rest stop?” she asked.

“We were lost,” said Dean, slightly belligerently.

“We want to go home now,” added Sam.

Louise's smile grew to epic proportions. “And where's home?”

“Uncle Bobby's,” said Sam. He opened his eyes wide again, and blinked a couple of times to make them water. “He's going to be so mad.”

“It's okay, Sammy,” said Dean. “Uncle Bobby's nice, he probably won't yell much at all.”

Sam glanced at Louise, who seemed to be buying this. “Do you know where Uncle Bobby is?” she asked.

Dean shrugged. “At home?” he suggested.

“Do you know the address?” prodded Louise.

Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged. “Sioux Falls, South Dakota,” Dean said defeatedly.

Louise looked surprised. “That's a long way away,” she said. “Were you on a trip?”

“Kinda,” said Dean, edgily. “Can I call him?”

“You know his phone number?” asked Louise.

“Only if I get to be the one to talk to him,” said Dean firmly. She hesitated, then agreed.

They were taken out to someone's office, and Dean kept his grip on Sam's hand even while dialling the phone. Sam flexed it a couple of times, pointedly, but that only made Dean hold on tighter.

“Uncle Bobby?” Dean asked when he picked up. “It's Dean. Sam and I have run into a _little_ problem. The authorities are a bit concerned about us being _children_ on their own.”

There was a long pause, then Dean winced slightly. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “It's uh...we're at the Warren County Sheriff's Department in Kentucky.” He winced again, and Sam could hear Bobby's voice speaking louder.

“Let me talk to him,” said Sam. Dean gave him a 'rather you than me look' and handed the phone over.

Sam took a deep breath and tried out his most pathetic small child voice. “Uncle Bobby, I'm so sorry,” he said. “Please don't be mad. We didn't mean to run away.”

There was a very long silence from the other end of the phone. “I swear to God, you Winchesters are going to be the death of me,” said Bobby eventually. “I suppose you want me to come down there and pretend to be your guardian.”

“Yes,” said Sam, trying out a lisp and then regretting it when it made him sound positively nauseating.

“I don't suppose you can give me any more details on what you've told them before I come down there? Or even how old you boys look right now so I can get some paperwork made up?”

Sam thought for a long moment, his eyes flicking to the police officers watching him. “I'm so sorry, Uncle Bobby,” he said again, figuring that the least they owed him was an apology for this call. “We wanted to go to see Mommy and Daddy's graves for my sixth birthday.”

“Great,” said Bobby with a sigh. “Okay, hand me over to someone official, and try not to get yourselves in any worse messes until I can get down there. Don't suppose you've any idea why you're suddenly munchkins?”

“No,” admitted Sam, and then with real gratitude, “Thanks Bobby.”

He turned round and smiled sweetly at the nearest cop. “He wants to talk to you.”

The cop took the phone, and Sam turned to Dean, who was giving him a disturbed look.

“How're you so good at acting like a kid?” he whispered in an undertone as the cop started taking down details from Bobby.

Sam shrugged. “Once a little brother,” he said. Dean just frowned at him harder.

 

 

 

 

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There was no way Bobby was going to make it down before tomorrow at the very earliest, so the police called social services, who sent a guy in what had to be one of the worst toupees Dean had ever seen to pick them up. When he introduced himself to them as Mr. Willis, Dean tightened his grip on Sam's hand even tighter, until Sam kicked his ankle in warning. He'd seen enough films to know what happened to siblings in care – they got separated. No way was anyone taking Sam away from him.

He glared at Mr. Willis. “I don't care if we have to share a bed, you're not splitting us up,” he said, and tried not to think about how much he'd been looking forward to sharing a bed with an adult Sam tonight. Nothing better than a hard, slow fuck after a long day driving.

“Oh, that won't be necessary,” said Mr. Willis cheerfully. “There's a lovely lady nearby who's happy to take both of you in for a few days.” Dean relaxed his grip on Sam's hand slightly, but didn't let go. “In fact,” he continued, “if we go now, you'll probably be in time for dinner.”

Well, that sounded good. Dean was starving.

 

****

 

Gemma and Mark Carlson lived in a suburban detached house, and already had four foster kids living with them.

Gemma made them both change in to some spare clothes she had before dinner, taking them up to a bedroom with three beds squeezed into it. Dean was given a shirt that had Transformers on it, but as Sam was given one with a dog in a pirate hat on it, he couldn't complain too much. Plus, there was the look on Sam's face when Gemma crouched down and started taking his t-shirt-dress off for him.

“I can do it myself,” he said in a rush, backing away from her hands.

Gemma ignored him and stripped the shirt off over his head, then gasped. “Sam,” she said in a gentle voice. “Where did you get these bruises?”

Dean froze and looked over at Sam, who was miserably trying to cover up his now naked body with his hands. The side of his ribs was still bruised from being thrown against a chest-of-drawers by the demon, and on his tiny child's body it looked horrific. He had other, smaller bruises scattered around his collarbones and nipples that Dean recognised as hickeys from last night, and hoped like hell that Gemma would think were just normal bruises.

“I fell over,” said Sam lamely. “In the woods. Can I get dressed now?”

“In a minute, sweetie,” said Gemma. She went to the door and yelled, “Mark, Mark! Come and look at this.”

Sam's face went red. Dean was torn between mocking him and hiding him away somewhere where no one could look at him like that again. When Mark came in and exclaimed at the bruises in a shocked voice, Dean felt his protective impulses win out.

“Leave him alone,” he said, pulling the shirt that Gemma had put aside for Sam off the bed and handing it to him.

“Dean, if someone's been hurting your brother,” started Gemma as Sam pulled it on.

“No one's hurting him,” said Dean firmly. “No one's going to.”

Gemma and Mark exchanged a look, then Mark left again with a reassuring smile to Sam, who was pulling on his pants.

“Let me help you with that,” said Gemma, and bent down again. Sam gave her a freaked out look.

Dean slipped the knife he'd managed to keep concealed up his sleeve under his pillow while Gemma was distracted with doing up Sam's shoelaces and Sam was distracted with the horror that he'd need someone else to do up his shoelaces. Then he changed his clothes as quickly as possible, hoping to keep the myriad of cuts on his back where he'd crashed through a glass coffee table hidden.

Luckily Gemma was too distracted with Sam to notice, but when she was shaking out their shirts, she found Sam's money clip. “Wow,” she said slowly, counting the notes tucked in it, “that's a lot of money for a small boy.”

Sam glared at her. “It's mine,” he said, and Dean knew he was talking about the clip more than the money. Jessica had given it to him, and he'd kept on using it after her death, even though having anything with their real names, or even just initials, was a bad idea when they spent so much time masquerading as other people.

Gemma pursed her lips. “I'll look after it for now,” she said. “You won't need all this now that you're here.”

Sam glared at her. “It's mine,” he said again. “You can keep the money if you want, but I want the clip.”

Dean stood up and came to stand behind him, adding his own glare. Gemma hesitated, and looked down at the clip.

“Give it back to him,” said Dean, trying to get as much threat into his voice as he could when it hadn't even broken yet.

After a moment's thought, she tugged the money out, then handed the clip back to Sam. He took it eagerly, and clutched it tightly in his hand for a moment, before shoving it into the pocket of his new pants.

“I'll give the money to your Uncle Bobby when he comes,” she said, and Sam nodded stiffly.

“Okay, I'll go put it somewhere safe,” she said. “You two settle in here – dinner should be in about ten minutes.”

Dean nodded an acknowledgement, then collapsed back onto a bed as soon as she was gone. “This really, really, really sucks,” he announced.

Sam snorted, and pulled himself up onto the bed. “Thanks, Captain Obvious, I hadn't realised,” he said. “You're not the one who isn't trusted to dress himself,” he added gloomily.

Dean sniggered.

Sam smacked him, but his tiny fist barely even registered on Dean. “Shut up,” he bitched.

The door swung open, and a red-headed kid walked in to the room as if he owned the place. He eyed Sam up for a second, then turned his gaze on Dean, his eyes narrowing.

“I'm Matt,” he announced. “How old are you?”

Dean sat up slowly. “Ten,” he lied.

Matt grinned. “I'm eleven,” he said. “I'm older than you, so you have to do what I say.”

Well, no snot-nosed little kid was going to tell Dean what to do. “Like hell,” he scoffed.

Matt glared at him. “Do too,” he said. “Or I'll hurt you.”

“Like to see you try,” said Dean, looking the kid up and down.

Sam sat up and put a hand on Dean's arm. “Dean, we're only going to be here a day or so,” he said. “Just let it go, or they'll make it into a thing, and then it'll be harder for Bobby to take us.”

Dean pursed his lips, still glaring at Matt, then nodded. “Yeah, whatever,” he said.

“You let your kid brother boss you around?” sneered Matt.

Dean stared at him blankly for a moment, then cracked a grin. “Only when we're in bed,” he said, smacking his hand down on the mattress beneath them.

Sam's outraged “Dean!” came at almost the same time as a bell ringing from downstairs.

“Dinner,” said Matt shortly, and left.

“Jesus,” bitched Sam, “do you want them to decide to keep us in care?”

Dean rolled his eyes and got off the bed. “Chill, Sammy, he's a kid. He has no idea what I meant.”

Sam climbed carefully off the bed, nostrils still flared with annoyance. “That's not the point, Dean.”

Dean grinned obnoxiously and ruffled his hair. “Okay, fine, Sammy. I'll be a good boy.”

For a moment he thought Sam was going to have some kind of brain aneurysm, then he swept snittily past Dean and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

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Dinner was pretty good – much better than the greasy diner food Sam had reluctantly got used to since leaving Stanford. He watched Dean wolf it down happily, and thought wistfully of one day having their own kitchen so that he could cook. He shoved the idea down in the area of his brain reserved for 'Pipedreams Dean Would Laugh At' and looked regretfully down at his plate.

Gemma had insisted on cutting his food up for him, which had made Dean nearly choke on hiding his laughter while Sam glared at him and kicked at him under the table. His little legs were ineffective though, and Dean just laughed at him harder.

Not long after dinner, Mr. Willis came back and had a long, quiet chat with Gemma, while Sam and Dean pretended to watch TV with the other children and tried to eavesdrop. Eventually, Gemma came out and smiled at Sam.

“Sam? Mr. Willis would like to talk to you.”

Sam felt his eyes narrow, and he glanced quickly at Dean, who stood up as well.

“It's okay, Dean,” said Gemma. “You can stay and watch TV.”

Sam sighed as Dean frowned, and tried to signal with his eyes that it was okay, and that he could cope with being in different room than Dean for ten minutes. Dean pursed his lips unhappily but sat back down again.

 

****

 

Close up, the toupee was even worse. Sam found himself unable to take his eyes off it.

“Sam,” said Mr. Willis in what he probably thought was a kind voice but which came across as slightly creepy. “Gemma said you had some bruises. Has someone been hurting you?”

“I fell over in the woods,” said Sam, mentally sighing. How were they going to convince everyone that there really was nothing to get concerned about? “I tripped over a branch,” he added, hoping that the more details he gave, the more believable it would sound.

Mr. Willis frowned slightly. “Sam, you know you can trust me, right? And Gemma and Mark too. You can tell us anything, and nothing bad will happen.”

“I know,” said Sam, “but there's nothing to tell. I tripped over a branch.”

Mr. Willis pursed his lips, and sat back. “Do you like living with Bobby?” he asked, clearly trying a different line of questioning.

Sam nodded as hard as he could, trying to act like a kid. “Oh yes,” he enthused. “He's great. He's always really nice to me and Dean.”

Mr. Willis nodded. “And Dean?” he prompted.

“Dean likes him too,” said Sam, wondering if he should find an example of Bobby's awesomeness. He tried to remember what sort of things they'd done at Bobby's when they were kids. “Bobby lets him help with the cars sometimes. Dean loves that.”

“And is Dean nice to you?” asked Mr. Willis, and Sam realised what he'd really been asking.

“He's the best big brother ever,” he said firmly, trying to push down his anger at just the suggestion that Dean might hurt him.

“Does he ever do anything to you that you don't like?” asked Mr. Willis.

Sam glared at him. “Never.”

Mr. Willis pursed his lips, then smiled insincerely. “Well, that's good,” he said. “You should go back to the sitting room now. It's probably time for your bath.”

 

****

 

Gemma wanted to help Sam with his bath. The idea of someone having to help him wash, let alone some strange woman, was enough to make Sam turn his most desperate look on Dean.

“At home Dean always helps me,” he said.

Dean was trying really hard not to laugh, but Sam glared at him until he agreed.

“Yeah, I'll do it.”

Gemma frowned. “Wouldn't you prefer to stay and watch TV with the others? I think it would be better if I helped Sam.”

Sam tried to remember the last time he'd seen a small kid get their own way. It was all about threatening to pitch such an epic fit that it was easier for the adults around to just go along with them. “I don't want you to help me! I want Dean to help me! Dean always helps me!”

Dean was starting to look very red in the face, and Sam wondered if it were possible to choke to death on repressed laughter. “It's okay,” he managed. “I like helping Sammy.”

Gemma kept frowning, looking from one brother to the other. Sam decided it was time to bring out the big guns.

“I don't want you to do it – I don't know you,” he whined, wishing he knew how to cry on command.

Dean stood up quickly and came over to put his hand on Sam's shoulder. “It's okay,” he reassured Gemma earnestly. “I know exactly what to do.”

Gemma sighed, and ran her hand through her hair, looking tired. “Well, okay then, boys,” she said reluctantly, “But if you need any help...”

Sam relaxed and grinned at her in relief. “We won't,” he assured her.

“I'll even make sure he brushes his teeth,” said Dean with smarmy grin. Sam sighed – he could just tell he was going to get a shitload of teasing about this as soon as they were alone.

 

****

 

Dean wouldn't let him take a shower. “Little kids always take baths,” he pointed out.

“I'm not a little kid,” Sam said.

Dean shrugged, and sat down on the toilet seat. “You look like one,” he said. “And you're getting really good at pretending to be one.”

Sam scowled and started to run himself a bath. “I hate absolutely everything about this.”

Dean snorted. “And I'm loving every second,” he said sarcastically. “Bobby'll be here tomorrow, then we can work out what the hell happened, and fix it.” He kicked his feet back against the bowl and Sam had to stifle a grin at the image he made. He only had very hazy memories of Dean being ten the first time and seeing him as a kid now was hilarious. Unfortunately, that probably meant he was at least twice as funny, and if he even thought about mocking Dean, he'd get it all back multiplied by at least a hundred.

 

****

 

Sam insisted that Dean should be the one to read his bedtime story when Mark offered.

“It's okay,” said Dean with a grin. “I know which one he wants.”

Mark looked unhappy, but let it go. Sam noticed him and Gemma exchanging looks, and he wondered glumly exactly how they were messing up the small-kids thing. It's not like they'd been particularly normal kids the first time around, after all.

He climbed up on to his bed with a sigh as soon as they were alone. Dean cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, there was a dude who grew a freaking enormous turnip...”

“You realise that I don't actually need a story?” interrupted Sam.

Dean grinned. “It was your favourite,” he pointed out. “Always put you to sleep.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It's barely eight. I doubt anything's going to make me fall asleep.”

“If we were in our real bodies,” said Dean, “I bet I could find a way to make you fall asleep in about fifteen minutes.”

Sam laughed, and tried to ignore that it came out as a giggle. “Not got a very good opinion of our stamina.”

“Fine,” said Dean huffily. “Half a hour. Either way, you'd be asleep before Gemma came up to check on you.”

“If we were in our real bodies,” Sam reminded him, “we wouldn't be here.”

“Yeah,” agreed Dean and flopped back onto the bed beside Sam. “Jesus, this is so fucked up.” Sam nodded his agreement with a sigh.

There was silence for a few minutes, and then Dean spoke again. “You remember that time in Amarillo?”

Sam frowned. “With the spirit of the trash collector?”

“No. Well, yeah, but that wasn't what I meant,” said Dean. “You remember after? When you blew me in the shower and I came so hard you nearly choked? And then when we got into bed, I...”

“Wait,” interrupted Sam. “Are you telling me a bedtime story about us having sex?”

Dean shrugged, his shoulders moving awkwardly next to Sam's. “I figure if you're too old for enormous turnips, maybe you wanna hear about my enormous...”

“Dean!” hissed Sam, scandalised. “Christ, what if Gemma or Mark come in? How you gonna explain that?”

“We'd hear them coming,” said Dean, but Sam's mind had already moved on.

“And, what the hell's the point in talking about something we can't do? Just going to make us horny and pissed off.” He frowned. “Can we even get horny in these bodies?”

“Let me finish the story and we'll find out,” said Dean with a smirk.

“No,” said Sam firmly. “Come on, man. We're _kids_. It's kinda gross.”

Dean made the pissed off noise that he always made when he knew Sam was right but he wasn't going to admit it. “Prude,” he griped.

“Porn does not count as a bedtime story,” Sam pointed out. “And I don't need one anyway. I just need us to get the fuck back to normal before I go freaking insane.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Dean, and his hand closed around Sam's wrist. It felt weird, having Dean's hand be so much bigger than his after so many years of it being the other way around, but somehow it still made Sam feel better.

 

 

 

 

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The next morning was a bitch. Gemma woke them up at the asscrack of dawn, frowning unhappily about the fact that Dean had crept back into Sam's bed after she'd made him move back into his own last night. Dean spun her a total lie about Sam having a nightmare, but she only really softened when Sam gave her some more of his freakily convincing small-kid routine.

“I miss my teddy,” he said, eyes doing that weird dewy-eyed thing that Dean was pretty sure he'd never be able to replicate. “Dean made it better.”

Gemma shot a narrow-eyed look at Dean, but the power of Sam's eyes was too much for her, and she let it go in favour of hassling everyone to get dressed and come down for breakfast.

As soon as she was gone, Matt glared disdainfully at Sam. “Only _babies_ need a teddy,” he said.

Dean stepped forward, ready to beat the tar out of the little shit, but Sam put one hand on his wrist to stop him. “It's okay, Dean,” he said. “Some people just aren't confident enough to admit to needing the occasional external source of familiar comfort, even when they keep one under their pillow.”

Matt flushed a dull red, which clashed with his hair, and his eyes darted to his pillow. “You little sneak,” he said angrily. “You better stay out of my stuff, or...”

“Or, what?” asked Dean, stepping forward again and glaring at him.

Matt stared at him with squinty eyes that were probably meant to be threatening. “Or you'll regret it,” he said, and stalked out of the room.

Sam grinned smugly, and Dean had to work hard to resist the temptation to ruffle his hair.

 

****

 

Breakfast was chaotic. Dean hadn't realised just how many people four children, two adults, and two adults-currently-masquerading-as-children could be until everyone was trying to get at their favourite cereal at once, whining about Hannah stealing the prize from the cereal box or Matt kicking them under the table, and generally turning the kitchen into a disaster area. Gemma and Mark did their best to mediate and keep control, but Dean could see it was pretty much a wasted effort.

He sat Sam at the table next to an empty seat, then snagged the Lucky Charms for them. Getting the milk was harder, and involved ducking under a flailing arm and taking advantage of his hunter-fast reflexes. He carried it back to Sam with what was probably an overly smug grin, if Sam's amused look was anything to go by.

He got him and Sam set with everything they'd need, then settled down to eating, ignoring the rest of the chaos. Well, that was the plan, anyway, right up until the little girl next to him knocked over her juice and sent up a loud wail that set his teeth on edge.

“Jesus, calm down,” he said to her. “It's just juice.”

She looked at him with eyes already brimming with tears. “It was _my_ juice,” she said. “And it's on my top, look!” She thrust a juice-damp sleeve in his face as evidence.

“Right,” he said, then glanced at Sam, who was happily ignoring everything in favour of staring off into the distance and eating his Lucky Charms. Damn geek always did manage to go off into a world of his own at the drop of a hat. “Hang on,” he said to the girl, “I'll get a cloth.”

The girl sniffed, meltdown not quite averted yet. “And a new drink?” she asked.

“And a new drink,” Dean agreed, standing up. Anything to prevent her making that damn noise again.

He cleared up the spilled juice and poured her some more, which seemed to cement him in her mind as her new best friend, because she then spent the rest of breakfast chattering to him happily about...well, he wasn't really sure to be honest. Some shit about ponies, maybe – after getting that her name was Mandy, he'd stopped listening, beyond nodding occasionally.

When the kitchen looked pretty much identical to a natural disaster, and everyone was just twitching with hyperactivity, Gemma shooed them all off to 'go play', and then started on the clean up.

Dean followed Sam out into the sitting room where they both stood awkwardly while the others all went off to play some game in the garden.

“When do you think Bobby'll get here?” asked Sam.

Dean shrugged. “Not for a couple of hours at least,” he said. “Add in the time to get the paperwork sorted...maybe lunch time?”

“Great,” said Sam, scowling. He glanced around at the room again, then headed over to the big bookcase in the corner. He started glancing down titles, pulling out one or two to look at more closely.

“Don't get caught reading anything too advanced,” said Dean.

Sam just waved a hand at him, little boy face caught in a frown of concentration as he read the back of a book. Dean wondered what the hell he was going to do all morning while Sam got his geek on, but before he could formulate any plans, Mandy ran in from the garden in tears. She ran straight into Dean, and then backed away slightly as if she hadn't been expecting him.

“What's up?” he asked.

“It's Ma-a-att,” she said in a wavering voice. “He's being mean!”

Dean could well believe it. “What's he done?”

“He won't let me be a princess in the game,” she said.

“Princesses are lame,” said Matt dismissively, and Dean looked up to see that he and the other two kids, Hannah and Sydney, had followed Mandy in. “I told you, you got to be the bad guy. We're gonna capture you and tie you up.”

“I don't want to be tied up!” wailed Mandy, and Dean glared at Matt.

“Hey,” he said to Mandy, “How about you and me play a different game? One where you can be a princess?” He shot a glare at Sam, daring him to say anything. Sam just grinned at him with the smug look of someone who knows they're going to have some awesome blackmail material very soon.

“Yeah,” said Mandy, smiling at him through her tears. “Yeah, okay.”

“Maybe you can be the cool kind of princess,” said Dean. “The kind that fights evil.”

Mandy looked even more interested. “Like Princess Fiona?”

Dean had no idea who that was, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah, sure,” he said.

“Can I play too?” asked Hannah shyly.

“You're my servant!” said Matt, sounding outraged. “You have to get me stuff when I need it.”

Hannah shrugged. “I'd rather fight evil.”

Matt glared at her, and then turned his look on Dean. “I hate you,” he yelled, and stormed back outside.

Which is how Dean found himself playing 'evil-fighting princesses and one prince' for most of the morning. Once he got them off telling him all about their ponies, it wasn't too bad – they slayed a bunch of trolls and a dragon before killing the evil wizard-king, at which point Hannah declared Dean was the new king. Dean kept half an eye on Sam, but he just sat inside, reading, so hopefully he wasn't collecting any more blackmail material from this.

“Let's pretend,” said Hannah excitedly, “Let's pretend that I marry Dean and then I'm the queen!”

Dean blanched.

“I want to marry Dean!” said Mandy loudly, and Dean winced, glancing inside and hoping Sam hadn't heard.

“Guys,” he said quickly, “We don't have time for that – there's a giant attacking.” He waved his hand vaguely at the bottom of the garden.

“Oh no!” said Sydney. “Let's kill it!” She grabbed her stick and ran full tilt at the nearest tree, yelling a wild warcry. Dean sighed and followed her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

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Sam was just about as content as he could be while trapped in a six-year-old's body. He'd found a copy of The Three Musketeers on the shelf, which he hadn't read in years, and Dean was outside acting like an idiot and clearly not aware that Sam could hear pretty much every word through the open door. He wasn't exactly sure when the best time to call Dean 'King Dean' would be, but he had a feeling it would either be next time Dean farted in bed, or next time he tried to get away with calling Sam a girl's name.

After a couple of hours, Gemma came through with a load of washing and Sam quickly pulled up a copy of How The Grinch Stole Christmas that he had tucked down at his side to cover The Three Musketeers. She stopped and frowned at him anyway.

“Don't you want to play with the others?” she asked.

“No,” said Sam. “I'm reading.”

She glanced out the door at where Dean had organised the three girls into a posse so that they could attack a tree. “Are you sure? They look like they're having fun.”

“I'm having fun too,” said Sam. She didn't look convinced.

She hefted the laundry basket in her arms and looked at him for a long moment. “I know what,” she said. “I was just going to put this on, and then make brownies for after dinner. Do you want to help?”

Sam really didn't want to help, he wanted to sit here and lose himself in d'Artagnan's stupid life rather than his own, but he didn't think he was going to get a choice.

“Okay,” he said, reluctantly sliding the books off his lap.

****

Gemma made Sam put on an apron before they could start on the damn brownies, and Sam had to grit his teeth while she did it up in a bow for him. Actually making the brownies brought it home just how impotent he was in this body and how much hassle simple everyday tasks were, so he was gritting his teeth with frustration even before Gemma started on the interrogation.

“So, do you do a lot of reading?” she asked casually as Sam tried to work out how to tip the flour out to be weighed when his hands were too small to hold the packet properly.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, distractedly. Well, crime scene reports and obscure tomes about demons still counted, right?

“What's your favourite book?” said Gemma, cracking the eggs into a bowl.

Crap. Sam had no idea what six-year-old boys were meant to enjoy reading. “Uh, the fairytales book,” he said. That was safe enough, right?

Gemma nodded and Sam relaxed slightly. “What else do you like doing?”

“Playing with Dean,” tried Sam, trying to remember what else he'd liked as a kid. “Watching TV.”

“You play with Dean a lot at home?” she asked, taking the flour away from him and adding it to the mixing bowl with everything else.

“Of course,” said Sam.

“Do you want to stir this?” she said, handing him the bowl and a spoon. Sam was pretty sure 'No, I want to go read' wasn't an acceptable answer and took the spoon with a sigh. “What games do you play?”

The mixture was pretty stiff for his little-kid muscles, and Sam struggled with it for a moment before answering, racking his brains for what they'd used to play when they'd stayed at Bobby's.

“Hide and seek,” he suggested. “Bobby has a caryard, there's loads of places to hide.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “He lets you play there on your own?”

Crap crap crap. “I'm not allowed out there alone,” said Sam, gritting his teeth at the bowl, determined to beat this damn brownie mix.

“Okay,” said Gemma dubiously. “And Dean doesn't mind playing with you?”

“Why would he?” asked Sam frowning, and then bit his lip. That probably didn't sound very little-kid.

“Well, he's not playing with you now,” pointed out Gemma.

“'Cause I don't want to, not him,” said Sam, finally getting the mixture to begrudgingly start to mix together.

“Did he ask you to play?” asked Gemma, leaving Sam to his struggle with the bowl and starting to set out the table for lunch.

“No,” allowed Sam. “But he knows how I like reading.” The mixture was just about all the same colour now, but Sam could see big lumps in it that he was pretty sure weren't meant to be there. He glared at it, wondering why people went to all this bother when you could just buy a packet of brownies so much easier. He tried to keep his concentration on the conversation with Gemma, searching for ways to prove that they were perfectly normal and didn't need her intervention. “He helps me with it sometimes,” he added, because he had clear memories of Dean sitting next to him on a motel bed, storybook between them as he pointed out the letters to Sam.

“You do a lot together then?” asked Gemma.

“We do everything together,” said Sam. “We're brothers.” She didn't really need to know that 'everything' included blowjobs.

“And does Bobby do things with you as well?”

“Of course!” said Sam with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Dammit, he'd forgotten to include Bobby. “He's really good at hide and seek,” he added, thinking about how often Bobby had managed to track them down when a case went wrong, just so he could tell them they were morons. “And he reads to us before bed.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “Last night you said Dean did your bedtime story,” she said.

“They both do,” said Sam firmly, then looked down at the mess in the bowl. “Is this done yet?”

Gemma came over and had a careful look. “Nearly,” she said, and Sam had to resist groaning. She returned to sorting out lunch and Sam scowled hatefully at the bowl. If he just had his own arms, he'd be able to beat this crap into submission easily.

“So why didn't you want to play with the others?” asked Gemma. Sam wondered if just asking the same question again after ten minutes really worked on kids.

“I wanted to read,” he said again, trying not to grind his teeth together.

Gemma nodded as if that were the first time Sam had said that. “Dean didn't tell you that you couldn't?” she said.

Sam stared at her. “No, why would he?”

“Maybe he doesn't like you playing with other people,” she suggested. Sam frowned. Did kids really get jealous like that about their siblings? The only time Dean had ever really given a crap who Sam 'played with' was when it was a euphemism for something else, and they were both adults by the time that made him pissed.

“I just wanted to read,” said Sam tiredly. Maybe he should just burst into tears of frustration to get her to leave it alone.

“Sammy likes reading,” said a voice by the door, and Sam looked up to see Dean standing there. He gave him what was probably an embarrassingly grateful smile, and Dean grinned back, no doubt getting a kick out of the apron. Right now, so long as he distracted Gemma from her questions, Sam couldn't bring himself to care. “He's a bit of a geek.”

“That's not a nice thing to say about your brother,” scolded Gemma. Sam snorted. “There's still another ten minutes before lunch, if you want to keep playing,” she added.

Dean came further into the room, and looked down at Sam's bowl. “Bored of playing,” he announced. “What'cha doing, Sammy?”

“Making brownies,” said Sam, and Dean's eyes lit up.

“I love brownies,” he said.

“They're for after dinner,” said Gemma.

Dean nodded, eyes still fixed on the chocolaty goo. “Right,” he said absent-mindedly. As soon as her back was turned, he stuck a finger in and licked it off. “Dude,” he said reverently. “Awesome.”

Sam took his chance and handed the spoon to Dean. “You finish stirring,” he said, and Dean happily took it. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

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It only took five minutes for the girls to find him.

“Dee-an,” whined Mandy, “aren't you playing any more?” She tried out a lost-and-betrayed look on him but Dean had spent thirty years fending off Sam's version, which was far superior, and her attempt had almost no effect on him.

“It won't be any fun without you,” added Sydney.

Dean glanced over at Sam, who was trying hard to hide his amusement, and thought hard. “Sure it will,” he said. “Tell you what – I've been kidnapped by the evil wizard king and you have to save me.”

Hannah frowned. “We killed the evil wizard king,” she pointed out.

“He's a zombie,” said Dean shortly. “You need to kill his three magical guardians to free me, but I'm not sure who or where they are.”

There was a moment when he thought they weren't going to go for it, then Hannah said excitedly, “I think I saw something evil by the flowerbed!” and they all took off. Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“Magical guardians?” asked Sam, sounding as if he were one step away from giggling. Dean scowled at him – he wasn't taking any shit from Sam while he was wearing that ridiculous apron.

“A guardian is someone who protects you,” said Gemma helpfully.

Sam gave her a long, slow look. “Thank you,” he said carefully, and Dean hid his grin by staring down at the brownies again.

“You finished yet?” Sam asked, clearly itching to get away from the kitchen. Dean took a careful look at the brownie mix.

“Still a couple of lumps,” he said, and Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “Keep your apron on, squirt,” said Dean. “You want these to be perfect right?” Man, he'd missed being able to call Sam squirt. Sasquatch just wasn't the same, somehow.

The kitchen door opened again, and Dean half-turned to tell the girls that there was no way they'd killed all three guardians that quickly, but it wasn't them. It was Matt, carefully holding the knife that had been under Dean's pillow and looking horribly smug.

“Matt!” exclaimed Gemma, dropping what she was doing and striding forward to take the knife from him. “What are you doing with that? Where did you get?”

Matt stared hard at Dean with satisfaction in his eyes. “It was under Dean's pillow,” he said, and Gemma spun around to stare at him. Ah, crap.

****

It turned out that getting chewed out by adults for being irresponsible and careless wasn't any more fun now than it had been when Dean was really a kid. Mark and Gemma took Dean into their office for a long, frank discussion with Dean about the dangers of knives and how wrong it was of Dean to hide it from them and what if Sam or one of the others had found it and hurt themselves? Dean tried to look contrite and kept his mouth shut, hoping to just get through this without saying anything that would get him in even more trouble.

After a while, Gemma left to sort out lunch for the other kids, leaving Mark to interrogate Dean on where he'd got the knife from.

Dean mentally apologised to Bobby and said, “I took it when we left Uncle Bobby's. He always said there were bad people who wanted to hurt kids who were on their own, so I figured I'd need some way to keep Sammy safe.”

Mark's frown deepened. “Where does Bobby keep it?”

Dean winced. Right, can't have these people think Bobby keeps knives lying around for kids to pick up. “It was in the cupboard,” he said. “I had to break the lock.”

Mark's frown eased slightly, but he didn't look completely relieved. “Dean, you know how wrong it was for you to do that, don't you?”

“Yeah,” allowed Dean. “But I had to keep Sammy safe.”

“He would have been safe if you'd just stayed at home,” pointed out Mark.

Dean didn't have an answer to that, so he just shrugged. “Can I have lunch now?” he asked, hoping to get away from Mark's disappointed look. Mark sighed and nodded, and Dean got the hell out of there and back to the kitchen.

Sam was staring hard at a sandwich, looking as if it had done him serious wrong and he was trying to work out if he should be stabbing it with silver or iron. Dean slid into the seat next to him with relief, and Sam glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

“How'd it go?”

Dean grimaced. “Think I might have gotten Bobby into trouble,” he said, and recounted the story he'd spun.

Sam made a face. “Not much else you could have said,” he acknowledged.

Gemma set a sandwich down in front of Dean with a faint frown that said she still had things she wanted to say to him. Dean gave her his best grin. “Thanks,” he said, and her look eased off. Oh yeah, he still had it, even as a ten-year-old.

Sam glanced at Dean's sandwich, and then back at his own. Dean looked over and saw that someone had cut Sam's crusts off, and he sniggered.

“Shut up,” grumbled Sam. “The crusts have the most antioxidants.”

Dean sighed long-sufferingly and swapped their plates over. “I swear, you're even more demanding now than you were when you really were a kid,” he said. Sam just shot him a happy 'I got my way' smile that Dean definitely recognised from the first time Sam had been six, and tucked in.

****

The doorbell rang just as they were finishing up lunch, and when Mark went to answer it, Dean heard Bobby's voice. He and Sam both immediately stood up, ignoring Gemma's command for them to stay where they were, and rushed out into the hall.

Bobby was standing just inside the front door, talking to Mark, but his voice trailed off when he saw them, and Dean could see the shock of seeing them as kids flash across his face. Sam shot Dean a sudden, mischievous look and then took off running towards Bobby.

“Uncle Bobby!” he yelled enthusiastically, and then he launched himself up into Bobby's arms. Bobby just barely caught him, probably mostly from instinct. “Oh, Uncle Bobby,” gushed Sam. “I missed you so much!” He flung his arms around Bobby's neck and hugged him, and Dean had to bite hard at his tongue not to start laughing at the look on Bobby's face.

“Yeah, you too, kid,” said Bobby. “Been a long time.” He looked over at Dean and gave him a nod, probably all he could manage with Sam clinging to him like facehugger. “Hey, Dean-o.”

“Hey, Bobby,” said Dean. He turned and stared hard at Mark. “Can we go now?”

“Mr. Singer,” said Mark, ignoring Dean. “Why don't you come into the sitting room?”

“Right,” said Bobby. He carried Sam through with him, and Dean could see Sam whispering something close to his ear – presumably catching Bobby up on their cover story.

“Why don't you boys go and finish your lunch?” suggested Mark. “We're going to have to wait for Mr. Willis to arrive, anyway.”

Dean scowled at him. “Done eating,” he announced, and sat down on the sofa next to Bobby, who now had Sam on his lap. Dean wondered just how long Sam would put up with that indignity in the name of freaking Bobby out.

“I hope you boys have been good for these folks,” said Bobby. “It was mighty kind of them to take you in like this.” Dean thought he might be slightly over-playing the 'just-a-good-old-boy' thing.

Sam widened his eyes to truly terrifying levels. “We've been really really _really_ good,” he said. “I made brownies.”

Bobby made a strange choking noise. “Right,” he said, warily.

“We'll have a chat with you in private once Mr. Willis gets here,” said Mark. “He's the social worker they've assigned to the case. Until then, why don't you guys catch up?”

“Right,” said Bobby. “Thanks.” Mark gave him a tight smile, and left the room.

Sam let out a sigh and immediately climbed out of Bobby's lap.

“What the hell have you boys gotten me into now?” grumbled Bobby. He looked from one of them to the other and then shook his head slightly. “Jesus.”

“You got any clue what might have done this?” asked Dean.

Bobby glared at him. “In the last 24 hours I've forged a whole tree's worth of official documents, called in favours from half a dozen of my friends to make them stick, and driven 900 miles. When exactly do you think I had time to research this mess?”

“We're really grateful,” said Sam. “Just get us the hell out of here, and we'll work out what's done this.”

Bobby shook his head. “Whatever it was, it must have been pretty powerful,” he said. “This ain't nothing a witch or even most demons could do. You must have pissed something pretty big off.”

Dean sighed. “So what else is new?” he grumbled.

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Mr. Willis arrived half an hour later, at about the time that Mark and Gemma were trying to organise an excursion to the park. His toupee was even worse than it had been the day before – Sam thought it looked like something had crawled on top of his head and died.

“You boys should come with us while Mr. Willis talks to your Uncle Bobby,” said Mark.

“We're staying,” said Dean flatly.

“They might take a while,” said Mark. “It'll be boring for you to wait, and the park has a great play area.”

“Don't like play areas,” grumbled Dean, clearly fed up with this whole thing.

Mark turned his attention to Sam. “What about you, Sam? You want to play on the swings?” Sam shook his head, which didn't even seem to register on him. “They've got a sandpit as well, and we might get an ice cream after.”

“Ice cream!” said Sydney excitedly.

“I want to stay here with Dean and Bobby,” said Sam, aiming for 'potential tantrum' again, but it just came out sounding weary. Mark sighed and exchanged a worried look with Gemma. Sam ignored it, not caring how they saw them now that Bobby was there. Even if Mr. Willis decided to keep them in care a bit longer, it wasn't like he and Dean didn't know how to escape a foster home.

“I want you to come,” said Mandy plaintively to Dean. “I want to play some more.”

“Sorry, kid,” said Dean. “But you can play without me – evil-fighting chicks don't need a guy to tell them what to do. Don't let Charlie's Angels convince you otherwise.”

Mandy nodded slowly. “I guess,” she said. She bit at her lip. “Are you going away now?”

“Hopefully,” said Dean, glancing at Mr. Willis.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. Sam exchanged amused looks with Bobby – trust Dean to work his charm on a girl even under these circumstances.

“Okay, we're leaving now,” said Gemma from the front door. “Everyone who's coming, come on.”

Mandy turned away and headed out.

“Hey,” called Dean, and she looked back. “You make sure you don't take any crap from Matt, okay? If you can take an evil wizard king, you can take him.”

“ _Zombie_ evil wizard king,” she corrected, and then smiled at him. “Bye-bye, Dean.”

“Bye,” said Dean, and she left. Dean slumped back against the sofa and Sam pushed the desire to tease him down. Plenty of time for that later.

“Okay, Mr. Singer,” said Mr. Willis. “If you'd like to come into the office.”

“Sure,” said Bobby, levering himself up off the sofa. “You boys be good,” he said, fixing them with a stern gaze. “Don't go disappearing again.”

“We won't, Uncle Bobby,” sing-songed Sam, still enjoying the unnerved look Bobby got every time he acted like the age he currently looked.

Bobby glared at him, then followed Mr. Willis into the study.

Sam let out a long exhale and let himself fall sideways on the sofa until his head was buried in Dean's arm. “This is so fucking shit,” he said.

Dean twitched slightly, then his arm snaked around Sam. “Tell me about it,” he bitched. “And we still haven't got a damned clue how to fix it.”

“Well, who've we pissed off in the last couple of weeks?” asked Sam, wriggling until he was relaxed more comfortably against Dean's side. They didn't usually cuddle like this – it was a step too weird for brothers, even ones as fucked up as they were. Being kids again, though, somehow made it seem okay. Sam was reminded of falling asleep sprawled out with Dean in the backseat of the Impala while Dad drove them through the night, radio on almost inaudibly in the background.

Dean sighed. “That poltergeist in Michigan?” he suggested. “Except we wasted him...the lady who owned the house was kinda annoyed about the mess, though.”

“She wasn't imaginative enough for this,” said Sam, thinking back. “And I think we would have noticed if she had the power for it. Maybe someone we gave a fake credit card to?”

Dean shook his head. “How would they know who we were to target this on us?” he pointed out. “After the poltergeist we went to New York for the demon.”

“Don't remember pissing anyone off there,” said Sam. “Well, except for that diner waitress.”

“She thought I was charming and adorable,” protested Dean.

“She was pissed as hell and plotting your death,” corrected Sam.

Dean made a disgruntled noise. “Man, this is impossible. Could have been anyone.”

“Anyone powerful enough,” said Sam. “That's the kicker – who is powerful enough to pull this kind of thing off?”

Bobby came out of the office before Dean could reply, striding out to crouch by the sofa. “Sammy,” he said in a careful voice. “Mr. Willis said you were hurt. You okay?”

Sam almost groaned out loud, but Mr. Willis had followed Bobby out of the office and was watching closely. Clearly, they were going to have to play-act their way through this one as well. “I fell over in the woods,” he said. “I'm fine.”

Bobby met Sam's eyes with a 'this is stupid, but it's got to be done' look that was at odds with the gentle note in his voice. “Can I take a look?” Sam reluctantly sat up and pulled his shirt up to show the bruises. Bobby sucked in a breath. “You're sure this was an accident? No one hurt you?”

Sam let his shirt fall again. “I wouldn't lie,” he said petulantly.

“Course not, kid,” said Bobby, turning around to fix Mr. Willis with a look. “What did I tell you?” he said.

Mr. Willis pursed his lips and then sighed. “I'm sorry, Mr. Singer, but I'm afraid we are going to have to keep the boys here for a bit longer, just while we take a good look at their living conditions.”

“Oh, what?!” exclaimed Dean. “No way!”

“I'm sorry, but we just want to make sure you're in the best place for you,” said Mr. Willis, but something in his voice sounded off, and Sam swore he could see the glint of a smirk in his eye. His mind flew once again to _what would be powerful enough to do something like this?_ and just as his brain lit up with realisation, he swore he saw Mr. Willis's toupee twitch as if it really were alive.

“You!” he gasped, and sprang up. “You bastard! We made a deal – you leave us alone, and I don't hunt you down and gut you!”

Mr. Willis blinked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Sam...” started Dean.

“He's the Trickster,” said Sam, feeling more certain of it with every moment that went by. Of course a God would be powerful enough to do something like this – possibly the only thing that would be, and this was just the kind of juvenile trick that he'd think was funny. Dean jumped up behind him, and Sam could sense him coming to back him up.

“Turn us back,” he demanded.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Mr. Willis helplessly.

“Come on,” said Sam impatiently. “You've had your fun.”

There was a second's hesitation, then Mr. Willis relaxed and grinned, his features melting into the familiar face of the Trickster. “You've got to admit this was a good one,” he said.

“Son of a bitch,” swore Dean.

“Turn us back,” repeated Sam.

The Trickster spread his hands, still smirking. “No can do, sorry. I really was going to leave you boys alone, you know, but...well, someone prayed for this, and I just couldn't resist.”

“Someone _prayed_ for this?” asked Dean incredulously.

The Trickster looked annoyed. “I'm a God,” he said. “You think I don't have worshippers? Maybe not as many as some of the big shots, but at least I actually answer my prayers.”

“Someone prayed for us to get turned into kids?” asked Sam.

The Trickster looked positively gleeful. “Not quite,” he said. “She just said that she wanted you to remember what it _really_ meant to be brothers. I figured this was close enough.”

Dean frowned for a second, and then groaned. “Oh, man, it was the chick from the bar.”

Sam thought back and remembered how pissed off she'd looked when they'd driven past her the next day.

“What the hell you'd do to her?” asked Bobby.

“Dean pissed her off,” said Sam rather than explaining the whole story and having to cover 'oh, did we mention we're fucking?'

“Me?” protested Dean. “You're the one that spurned her advances.”

Sam made a face at him, then turned back to the Trickster who was watching them with open amusement. “Okay, well, we know what it really means to be brothers,” he said impatiently.

“Not that we ever forgot,” added Dean.

“You can turn us back now,” continued Sam. “Right now.”

The Trickster tipped his head to one side. “I don't know,” he said slowly. “I mean, I think she'd probably want you to suffer a bit longer, and I do like to provide satisfaction to my supplicants.”

Dean growled, which really didn't work so well from a ten-year-old throat. “I'm gonna ram a stake so hard into you...” he threatened.

The Trickster tutted. “Haven't you boys learnt yet that there's no way you can get anywhere near me with a stake? Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm not the one you really want to ram a stake into.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam's brain was whirling. “Wait,” he said as Dean stepped forward with his hands clenched into small fists. “Hang on, what if...” He looked straight up at the Trickster and took a deep breath. “Dear Trickster,” he said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “please return me and my brother to our normal ages. Amen.”

“Oh, come on, Sammy,” said Dean, “That'll never...”

“No problem,” said the Trickster and clapped his hands.

[ ](http://tinypic.com)

Growing up twenty years in the space of heartbeat was freaking weird. Dean suddenly found himself looking at the room from a much more familiar height. “Thank fuck,” he said, and met Sam's eyes, which were now significantly higher than his own. He tried to tell himself that it was annoying that Sammy had grown to be taller than him, but the truth was it just felt right now for Sam to loom over him.

Sam gave him a totally shit-eating, smug, 'I was right!' look and Dean had to grin back because that look hadn't changed since he was a little kid. Besides, for some reason their clothes had grown with them this time (perhaps the Trickster wasn't up for seeing them in their birthday suits, which was just wrong in Dean's mind. Winchester genes were freaking hot.) so Sam was an eight foot tall adult guy trying to look smug while wearing t-shirt with a dog wearing a pirate hat on it, and that was hilarious.

“Man, I can't believe that worked,” said Bobby, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I also can't believe I drove 900 miles just in time to watch you fix this thing. You morons couldn't have worked this out earlier?”

“Sorry, Uncle Bobby,” said Sam in a reasonably good imitation of his little-kid-voice.

Bobby gave him a disgusted look. “I'm gonna go find a motel and sleep for twenty four hours before I have to drive all the way home,” he grumbled. “Feel free to skip calling me next time you get yourselves in some ridiculous mess.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” said Dean. Bobby made a disgruntled noise and swept out of the room, muttering to himself.

“Okay, well, my work here is done,” said the Trickster, rubbing his hands together.

“Wait,” said Sam. “What about Mark and Gemma, if we just disappear now?”

“Don't worry about that. They already don't remember poor little abused Sam and his overprotective big brother,” said the Trickster, waving a dismissive hand. “And so long as you send me a quick prayer of thanksgiving every so often, I promise not to play with you guys any more.”

“Gee, thanks,” said Sam sarcastically.

The Trickster smirked at him, snapped his fingers and was gone.

“Man, I hate that bastard,” said Dean. “He can kiss my ass before I'll pray to him.”

Sam sighed. “Might not be a bad idea,” he said. “Who knows what kind of hell he'll put us through if we don't?”

Dean made a grumpy noise, but didn't argue the point. He went into Gemma and Mark's office and grabbed his knife. “Come on,” he said as he came back out, “Let's get the hell out of here and back to my car.”

****

They 'borrowed' a car and drove back to the rest stop where they'd been turned into kids. Dean was extremely relieved to find that the Impala was still there and in one piece after having been abandoned overnight. He took a few minutes to check her over for scratches or dents, ignoring Sam's long-suffering sigh and impatient foot-tapping.

When Dean bent down to smooth his hand over the lines of her trunk, Sam made a frustrated noise.

“Do you think we could get out of here before someone notices that we arrived in a stolen vehicle?” he asked.

Dean glared at him, but reluctantly straightened up and got in the car. He took a moment to run his hands over the steering wheel, then started the engine when Sam cleared his throat.

“Jesus,” he said as he pulled out of the rest stop and back onto the highway. “Have some patience, Miss Crankypants. Not like we've got anywhere to be.”

“Maybe not, King Dean The Dragonslayer,” said Sam with a smirk, and Dean grimaced. Trust Sam to have overheard that. “But someone promised me a blowjob yesterday and still hasn't delivered.”

Dean perked up at the reminder. “Hell, yeah,” he said. “I'd forgotten about that. Guess we'll just have to stop at the first motel so you can collect, right?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Sam happily.

Dean grinned at him and put his foot down on the gas.


	3. Where The Skies Are Blue

They didn't make it to a motel. Dean saw a turn-off into a wooded rest-stop area, glanced over at Sam and the way his knee was jiggling, and took it. There'd be plenty of time for finding motels later, right now he just really wanted to get his hands on Sam's dick. Or his mouth, he really wasn't picky, so long as Sam's dick was involved.

Sam gave him an amused look, but didn't comment as Dean parked up as far from the road as possible. The place was empty apart from them, but he wasn't willing to bet on it staying like that for too long on a sunny Saturday afternoon. He glanced around and spotted a gap in the trees that looked promising.

“Come on,” he said, getting out of the car.

Sam followed him over to the trees. “We going to kill a giant?” he asked innocently.

Dean glared at him. “You piss me off, you won't get laid,” he said, but they both knew it was an empty threat. Sam not getting laid meant Dean not getting laid, and that just wasn't happening.

Sam sniggered behind him as they walked between the trees, and Dean could hear the memory of his little-boy giggle in it. He wondered for a split-second if maybe the Trickster had been right, and being reminded of their childhood together should have put him off wanting to have sex with Sam. Clearly he was even more fucked up than he realised, because the snigger just made him want to feel Sam up until he was too turned on and horny to mock.

The path led through the band of trees and out into a wide, sunny meadow. There was no one anywhere in sight – just woods and fields.

Dean grinned. “Perfect,” he said, and turned to grab Sam's shoulder and pull him down into the kiss it felt like he'd been waiting days for. Sam responded immediately, and his hands slid up under the hem of Dean's shirt to hold onto bare skin.

“Missed this,” he said, and Dean just nodded his agreement. It seemed ridiculous that just twenty-four hours of not being able to touch Sam like this, his fingers splayed out against the dip of Sam's back and his lips grazing over the stubble lining his jaw, had seemed so damned long and left Dean so desperate for it.

His hands started working on Sam's pants without his brain needing to instruct them. Sam pushed his hips forward into Dean's touch almost instinctively, and Dean just couldn't wait any longer. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain when he hit the ground, and ripped open Sam's pants, shoving them and his boxers down.

“Yeah,” said Sam in a shaky voice as Dean slipped his mouth around his cock. “Yeah, come on.”

Dean ignored him, content to just set his own pace and take some time to remind himself of all the things that were awesome about sucking Sam's cock. He held tightly onto Sam's hips and lost himself in the taste of it, the slide of it past his lips, the grip of Sam's hands on his head, holding on as if Dean were all that was keeping him standing up.

“Wait, wait,” gasped Sam just as Dean was hitting his stride, sucking Sam down so deep that he felt it at the back of his throat. Dean pulled away and looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Don't want to finish yet,” said Sam. “There's...in my pocket.”

Dean reluctantly let go of Sam's hips to grope in the pocket of his pants where they were caught around his ankles. He came out with a condom and a packet of lube, and grinned at Sam. “I like your thinking.”

Sam smiled back with just a hint of wickedness. “Pants off then,” he said, taking the packets from Dean. He kicked off his own pants while Dean complied, then sank down to the ground. Dean wasted no time getting out of his own pants and underwear, but neither of them bothered taking off their shirts.

“Turn over,” said Sam, and Dean hesitated for a second. That wasn't exactly where he'd seen this going, but he guessed that after a day of having his food cut up and his laces tied, Sam wasn't in the mood to bottom.

“Come on,” said Sam impatiently. He'd wrapped a hand loosely around his erection, and stroked it a couple of times. “Want to show you exactly how much I grew up,” he said with a smirk.

Dean snorted, but turned over, bracing his hands on the grass. He was probably going to end up with both his hands and his knees scraped to fuck, but it was definitely going to be worth it. He didn't bottom very often, but every time he did, Sam totally made it worth his while.

Sam didn't waste a lot of time working Dean open – this really wasn't the time or the place for a lot of foreplay. Dean stared down at the grass in front of him, watching an ant find its way through the stalks, and lost himself in the push of Sam's fingers, the expert way he knew exactly how to stretch Dean open and turn him on until his muscles felt like rubber and his arms were shaking as they held up his weight.

He shut his eyes so that he could feel it better, only half-aware of the soft grunts he was making, and Sam's harsh breathing behind him. Sam's fingers were perfect for this – long and thick and able to touch every empty space inside him.

“You ready?” asked Sam in a strained voice.

Dean nodded, then forced himself to get it out in words. “Yeah, come on.”

There was a pause, and the crinkle of the wrapper as Sam sorted out the condom. Dean could hear birds singing in the tress and the faint sound of cars on the highway, but it still felt like he and Sam were the only people in the world.

Sam smoothed a hand over Dean's hip. “Ready?” he asked in a low voice, but he didn't wait for an answer before pushing in, sinking inside Dean until it felt like he was in deeper than Dean's bones.

“Fuck,” muttered Dean, trying to move back into the feeling. “Yeah.”

“So fucking hot,” breathed Sam. “Always are.” He pulled out and thrust inside again, harder, and Dean could feel the soil under his palms digging in with the movement, but he couldn't care, not when Sam was right behind him, inside him, draped over his back and fucking deep inside him until Dean was shaking and mouthing nothing words that he hoped Sam couldn't hear.

Sam came first, fingers biting deep into Dean's skin as he gasped out his name. He paused for a moment, panting out hot breaths against Dean's neck that nearly drove Dean mad with frustration, caught just short, until Sam reached around and took a solid grip on Dean's cock.

“Come on,” he said, his softening dick still in Dean's ass and his hand moving confidently on Dean's dick. “Dean, come for me.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, pushed back against Sam's hips, and let himself go with a grunt, spilling out onto the grass. He just about managed to stop himself falling forward into the mess as his arms gave up on holding him up, instead rolling sideways and spreading out on his back.

“Awesome,” he said happily, grinning up at Sam.

Sam laughed. “You won't be saying that when your knees start complaining,” he said.

Dean's knees were already starting to hurt, as were the balls of his hands, but he just shrugged. “Right now, it's awesome,” he said. “Later can wait.”

Sam shook his head fondly, leant down and kissed Dean. “Yeah,” he agreed, relaxing down to fit his body against Dean's.

Dean let his eyes fall shut against the sun, grass tickling against the back of his neck and along the bare skin of his legs and ass. Just a few minutes, then they'd gather their clothes, get back in the car and try to find a motel. That was when he'd start bitching about his hands and knees, see what he could get Sam to offer as recompense, but for now, he was just going to lie still for a bit with Sam's long, full-size, definitely adult body pressed against his, and enjoy the afterglow.


End file.
